


Unrecognisable

by MagieFish



Series: Imagineered Abominations [20]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, Grant has gone mad, Insanity, warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-04 11:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagieFish/pseuds/MagieFish
Summary: You never know insanity until you look it’s in the eyes.





	1. Nonsense

_May 25th 1938._

~~~~Grant watched the ink cover the wall, his hand roughly guiding it. Dodging and darting all over the wood, words and numbers were emebeded on it’s once clean surface. It made sense to only him. And yet it didn’t. He desperately puzzled over his writings, rechecking his calculations again and again. Paper sheets littered the floor as he emptied his desk of it’s contents. His writing was shattered and broken within his mind. Nothing made sense any more. Nothing ever did. His head turned at the cream of a door. He let out a sorrowful laugh at his arrival. Was it sorrowful? He hadn’t a clue. He got to his feet unsteadily, his best smile on his face. Oddly enough, he thought he could see a flash of fear in his eyes.

”I have no work sir.”, He chocked as his disappointed gaze fell across the room, “Nothing makes sense! I’ve tried every calculation but I can’t make heads or tails of it!”, He let out another hysterical laugh and clutched his head, “I can’t count it! The numbers mean nothing! Nothing means anything anymore!! And anything means nothing!!!!”

He was scaring himself by this point. He pulled his hair from his scalp but didn’t even notice the pain over his laughter. The other reached into his pocket and pulled out something. Tears poured down Grant’s face as he fell to his knees, laughing uncontrollably. It was just so funny! **All of it meant nothing! HoW hIlARiOUs!!** He stood over him as the laughter died down. He clutched the fabric of his trousers, grinning all the while. He met his eyes. Sir wasn’t afraid to stare into his eyes. The grin grew even wider.

”I can see now! You’re just like me! You’re broken and empty and everything is meaningless to you!!!! And it always was, wasn’t it!!!!!????? WASN’T IT!!!!!??????”

The smile vanished from his face and moved to the others. Something moved into his shoulder, flowing his blood, numbing his joints in an instant. His let go of him as his hands twitched and shook uncontrollably. 

“You’re right Cohen.”, He said joyfully, “It was meaningless. Until I found a reason. Unfortuantely, you’ll never get that chance.”

An ear piercing scream cut through Level S.

It dissolved into gibberish.

And then silence.

Laughter.


	2. The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little things are what matter.

Sometimes he’d just stop and listen. Outside or inside. He’d sit in the hallways and listen to the running ink and the sounds of machinery. He’d sit on benches to hear cars and the chirping of birds. Little things. Just the little things. Murray was always a good listener. He’d listen to others complaints without even complaining himself. He was kind and intelligent. And then Grant started to fall apart. Little things. Little things first. Leaving his office later and later. The aggression towards others. Uncontrollable mood swings. There was a day when Shawn found Murray crying in a Little Miracle Station.

“What’s wrong?”, He asked.

You could barely hear what he said when he burrowed his tearful face into Shawn’s shirt. 

“I went to check on Grant.”, He whispered, “And there was writing on the walls, and paper on the floor, and he was in the corner rocking himself. I approached him and he just looked at me, and there was fear in his eyes and he said ‘What’s happening to me?’. And, and-“

And the tears kept coming until his chest hurt from his sobs and his eyes and throat were dry. Day after day after day of crying. Until the last tears were shed. The office was empty. They both knew it. Not a soul allowed inside. Not a soul to see the writing or the papers or the smashed mugs. No one. No one except him. Little things. Here he was a little thing. Both were broken and torn like sheets of paper with too much ink on them. The pen pierced through their hearts. Some days Murray didn’t come in. He couldn’t bring himself to. Those days Shawn was at his worst. A completely different person sat painting smiles. Quiet, emotionless, empty. They needed one another for their wounds.

June 9th 1938. The day Shawn Flynn died. The other man now sits in his chair, and drinks from his mug, and uses the tools from his belt. He stares into nothing with glassy eyes every day. He was a walking corpse, hours ticking down to when he crumbled.

Shawn sat on a park bench. He listened to the cars and the chirping of birds. _Murray liked the little things._

The sounds of running ink and machinery filled Joey’s ears. He put on his glove, the man who was supposed to be Murray looking at him with a blackened face. _Little things were his demise._

Little things. Little things filled his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey Drew Studios, ruining lives since 1929.


End file.
